don't blame me, love made me crazy
by The Adamant Daughter
Summary: In which, Zuko is recently divorced and definitely not looking for love, then Katara finds him. Porn w/ Plot. Porn w/ Feelings. Zutara.
1. Chapter 1

**_doesn't that make me... off-limits?_**  
 _(emotionally compromised? damaged goods? forbidden fruit?)_

* * *

A thousand poor decisions have landed him here, the epitome being his fifth shot of tequila and not even sucking a lime to chase after it.

Zuko grimaces at the slinking warmth in his chest and slams the shot glass down on the bar top. There's a raucous cheer from some guy with a mess of spiky hair. A girl who calls herself Smellerbee wags at the bartender to order him another.

"Mmm— n-no," Zuko slurs, shaking his head in a way that's hardly convincing.

Honestly, nothing sounds better than getting stupidly drunk and fucking some college-age chick. He won't even have to remember her name. But, it's been ten years since he's graduated and Zuko doubts anyone will dig a recent divorcee who's thirty-two and too young to have slivers of grey around his temples. Plus, he has to piss in a bad way.

Zuko says no again, firmer this time, and struggles from his chosen barstool to find the toilets.

He decides he was right to refuse. He's dizzy as hell. The lights overhead are spinning; the faces around him are a blur. Someone has a vice-grip on his arm.

He's wrenched around, swearing under his breath when he comes face to face with a blue-eyed woman. Her nose is level with his sternum, but with her arms crossed and the writhing bodies on the dance floor acting as her backdrop, Zuko's a tiny bit afraid.

"Excuse me!" Her voice carries over the music, her brows creasing so intensely the gap between them all but vanishes.

Zuko blinks at her. She's so shockingly gorgeous it hurts. He doesn't know where to focus: her eyes, her lips, the chestnut skin that disappears into a low-cut red dress. Why is someone so pretty so angry?

The woman seems to take his silence as stupidity; her bright, blue eyes roll up to the ceiling, then back to him.

"Will you move? Please? I'm trying to order a drink, but you and your..." Her gaze slides to the left, drifting over the rift-rafts that befriended him, "...drinking buddies are hogging the bartender."

Zuko finds his voice, "S-sorry, uh—"

He shakes his head, this time trying to clear the fogginess from his thoughts, but it's not the alcohol anymore. Now, he's stuck on the shape of her hips and her legs, how all of her is taut curves and her ass is probably the best in the bar.

When his gaze travels back up, Zuko thinks that her hair is doing her a million favors, down and wavy and the color of chocolate, but he might like it in a bun. He'd be able to see her neck and her collarbones, and if they made their way into the sweaty crowd, he could kiss all the exposed skin; he could suckle the pulse below her ear and make her moan.

Zuko finds her eyes again. She's glaring.

"If you're going to stare at me like you want to eat me, you have to buy me a drink."

"What? I- I wasn't—"

"You weren't?"

"No, I—" She's trapped him, right up against a wall. Well, in this case, it's the bar top. The lip digs into his back, telling him there's no escape. "I just got divorced."

"Random... is that your excuse for the creepy staring?" She doesn't let up, but there's a smile in her eyes.

"No, it—" Zuko huffs and rubs the back of his neck. "Doesn't that make me off-limits?"

The woman laughs, "Did all your paperwork go through?"

"Last week," he says with a touch of bitterness, a touch of freedom, in his tone. Zuko licks his lips. Her eyes are flirty now, and his newfound freedom wins out, "Wouldn't you say I'm emotionally compromised? Damaged goods? Forbidden fruit?"

"I'd say you're funny," she quips. "Then, I'd ask, are you always this funny?"

Zuko gives her a quirky grin. He doesn't quite know what to make of the compliment, if it is a compliment. The way she's looking at him makes him hope it is, but he can't help one more warning.

"I can't commit."

"What makes you think I want commitment?"

"Uh..." His shoulders lift with a half-hearted shrug, "Past experiences?"

She smirks and all she says in response: "My name's Katara, you can call me Kat, and I'm a present experience."

"Zuko."

"Lovely to meet you, Zuko. Now, if you can get through your damaged fruit nonsense, my table's over there." Katara nods to a secluded booth, where a couple is cozied up. "Please be my Prince Charming and save me from this third wheel life."

* * *

An hour later, Katara's starting her third margarita and Zuko's thrown his arm around her shoulders, a glass of whiskey in his free hand.

He likes the way her hair tickles his skin, the way she leans into his ribs like she's known him for years. She's soft and warm with him, inviting him into her conversation and her life.

The couple sharing their booth is her brother and his fiancee, who chatter amiably about everything from the last Seahawks game to Biden memes. Whenever something comes up that Zuko doesn't understand, Katara will put her lips to his ear and whisper the answer.

Sokka pretends to retch every time Katara does this; Suki jabs him in the side. Zuko learns that they dragged her out that night; it's a bid to get her own failed relationship off her mind.

Not that the enamored couple makes it easy. When they aren't talking, they're kissing. Or they're just so completely engrossed in the other's eyes that Katara can't get a word in edgewise.

"They're disgusting, aren't they?" Katara mocks her brother's gagging sounds, then takes a sip of her drink as she settles under Zuko's arm. "Can't keep it together for five seconds without going all _'coochie-coochie-coo'_ on each other."

"Um, we do not sound like that," Sokka snaps back.

Suki only laughs. Maybe she knows Katara is right. Maybe she has no real argument since her arms are still around Sokka's muscled neck and she's pulling him back for another kiss.

"I'm a little needy when I'm drunk," she mumbles, her words muffled by Sokka's lips. "Don't hate me."

"Oh, I could never hate you. You're too pretty to—"

Sokka carries on, but Katara's pulled Zuko's attention from the display.

"Take me dancing."

She announces it, which Zuko admires. Her bright eyes don't leave him any room to question her; her smile is playful and seductive. He thinks she might get him into trouble, but he throws the last of his drink back anyway and pulls her into the crowd.

Surrounded by writhing bodies and thumping bass, Zuko realizes she is trouble. Suddenly, the idea of a twenty-one-year-old crammed into the bathroom stall with him doesn't sound nearly as fun as taking Katara home and making out on his couch for hours.

After he's memorized her lips, he'll spend another hour undressing her, learning every inch of her skin. He'll kiss her neck, lick her breasts, nip at her hips. He'll keep going until his head's between her legs and she's shaking.

Zuko wonders what sounds she'd make, what she'd smell like, taste like; if it'd be a lot like this—

They sway in the middle of the floor, pressed together by a dozen other couples. As crammed as they are, there's too much space between them.

He pulls Katara closer by grabbing her hips. She wraps her arms around his neck. The music rumbles through their limbs, thundering in their bones. It draws them into a rhythm.

She moves, and he follows. She tugs his hair, and he groans. She rakes her fingers down his back, and Zuko mirrors it. His hands play on the small of her back, holding her flush to him. His hips copy the pattern she makes, side-to-side, little figure eights.

It's been years since he's lusted so intensely, but Katara has him aching. His lips beg to taste her, his fingers make pleas to touch every part of her. His cock's hard and throbbing against his thigh, compressed too tight by denim jeans. His veins feel full of molten gold.

Her skin's covered in an iridescent sheen, catching the flash of blue and purple lights. Zuko turns her around, telling himself it's for his own good because he's going to lose himself in her stare; but really, he wants her ass moving on him, he wants to brush her hair away from her neck and nip along her shoulder blade.

Katara moans when he does. She dances harder, twists and winds and rolls with the endless beat.

She must know, she must have some clue how badly he wants her; her mouth curls with the hint of a smile, her head falls back, resting on his shoulder as they move, her eyes devour him. She could be a goddess or some irresistible demon here to drag him to his demise. Zuko wouldn't know the difference; he's damned either way.

He flattens a hand on her stomach. Katara brings her arm up and around his neck. Then, he doesn't care about the way they met or the bodies closing in on them. Zuko holds her tight to him, cups her chin. Katara turns around, and their lips meet in a feverish rush.

Salt. Lime. Tequila. Zuko finds all the flavors on her tongue, and underneath, something sweet and intoxicating. It must be the way her skin tastes, the way her cunt tastes.

He growls, the sound building in his chest, spilling into her mouth. All he wants is that taste. He'd beg for it.

Zuko breaks the kiss, breathes her in. Then pants, "Come home with me."

 _"Mmm,"_ Katara purrs. It makes his stomach tight. "You're making demands now?"

He laughs, but it gives way to something akin to a desperate plea. _"Will_ you come home with me?"

Her eyes are as dark as midnight. She bites her lip, and Zuko wants to bite it harder, but he waits— waits for her to lift on the tips of her toes, waits for her to nip at his ear and send shivers down his spine when she whispers:

"Can you wait that long, Prince Charming?"

* * *

Zuko grips her hand as they stumble out to his car. There's no way in hell he's driving the fifteen minutes back to his flat; he needs his jacket and briefcase if he's going to leave the Charger at the bar.

But, as soon as he unlocks the doors, Katara is the one who can't wait.

She fists his shirt, tugs him down into a wild, sloppy kiss. Her fingers splay on the car behind her, searching for the handle. When she finds it, Katara pulls him into the back seat.

 _God…_ he had every intention of getting her home, showering her with attention until the sun came up… But, holy fuck, with her dress bunched up around her waist, with her panties pushed aside and his fingers playing at her slit, he doesn't even remember where he lives.

Zuko yanks the dress's straps off her shoulders with his free hand. His tongue traces around her nipple while his fingers circle her clit. Katara mewls, moans, moves against the heel of his palm and coaxes his fingers inside her.

"Shit, you're so wet," he hisses through his teeth.

One finger, then two, and three— Katara rolls her hips, fucks herself on his hand, throws her head back and croons his name. Zuko can't think of anything better.

She's hot and tight; he fumbles around for his wallet, pulls his fingers from her to rip open a condom.

 _"No…"_ Katara whines at the loss of contact. She grinds in his lap, and he can feel how wet she is through his jeans. His cock hurts.

Together, with desperate pants fogging the windows, they undo his belt and his fly and Zuko's boxers are jerked down past his hips. He tries to get the condom down and around his length, but Katara starts with these little fluttering thrusts, tormenting just the tip of him

He grabs her waist and she lifts away, only to work him again by dragging her slick folds up and down every inch.

"Fuck, _Kat—"_

Zuko gives up any efforts to stop her. He lets her soak him, lets her tease him; she gets herself so close to the edge— he thinks he's going to come, too— that she's shaking above him.

"Come here," he all but growls. Zuko pushes her off him and onto her back. She's smirking, smirking like she's proud of herself for getting around his resolve and getting him undressed in the backseat.

He rolls the condom on, hovering over her with half a smile on his lips. "You're a fucking vixen."

"Am I?" Katara reaches up. She trails her fingers from his sternum to his stomach, then strokes his cock once before cupping his balls. "Is that why you still can't stop staring?"

Zuko laughs, "Shut up," then sinks into her slowly, until she's gasping his name and his hips are flush with hers. He can't breathe, but he manages to pull out, to thrust hard, to moan into her neck. "God… you—"

Katara rakes her nails up his back, leaving goosebumps everywhere her fingers go. She cards through his hair, tugging his head up so she can kiss him.

Against his lips, she hisses, "I'm a vixen, I know."

He all but falls apart after that. They fuck hard and fast, rocking the car, leaving handprints on the windows and bruises on each other's skin. Zuko comes with a growl and Katara follows, her hips hitching erratically with his and her heart beating a rapid pace into his chest.

Zuko goes lax, lays his head down her breasts and listens as Katara catches her breath. It's not long before she does, and she tickles his back with feather-light touches.

He likes it. He wants more of it, and he wants to touch her, too, innocently and affectionately.

"You'll still come over," Zuko says, before he can bite his tongue, "right?"

"I thought you couldn't commit? Something about forbidden limits?"

"It was _off-limits_ and _forbidden fruit,_ " he snorts, "but I can commit for one damn night."

Katara kisses his hair. "Commit through breakfast, and you'll have a deal."

"I think I can manage that."

He pulls away from her and Katara smiles. It's so pretty and sweet, like she's excited for the extra time. Zuko doesn't let his thoughts go any further than that— a sleepover, a second and third round, a cup of coffee and waffles; but somewhere, in the back of his mind, Zuko thinks he could commit for life.


	2. Chapter 2

_It's… not quite a confession._

 _zuko has some kind of thing for the girl from the bar, but he would rather let his ex-wife hit him with a bus than ask her on a date._

* * *

The bed is warm and he's not alone, which makes it impossible for Zuko to do anything except lay still with his eyes closed. Or try.

As surely as the early sunlight trickling through the blinds, awareness begins to trickle into his limbs. There's a heaviness in his breath, a satisfied weariness. His arms have the faintest tremor to them from holding Katara's weight while he fucked her in his doorway. When he shifts, Zuko senses a slight ache in his hips from the hour they spent wrecking his sheets at 3AM.

He does his best not to linger on the memories. He said he wasn't going to commit, not past breakfast anyway, but there's a familiar throb in his balls and he can't help it.

God, she was good; so _fucking_ good. Demanding, but unselfish. Rough, but only in the best of ways. She moaned his name like he was some kind of god. When he laid her down and fulfilled his wish of burying his face in her cunt, she tasted like heaven.

Three times. Nine orgasms between them. Four and ten, if Zuko counts the hot-and-heavy romp in his car.

He does. It was quick, over before he really wanted, but he'll hold onto that wild, passionate, _fun_ moment until he's dead.

Fuck Mai, he thinks. Fuck all her mind games and drama, too. One night in a bar, and he's actually happy. Sure, it could be fleeting. Maybe he'll never call Katara back. Maybe she'll never call him. He'll wait and see if she still likes him after his (freezer) waffles and (instant) coffee. Maybe she won't, now that they're both fully sober, but he finds himself praying she'll stay, at least 'til lunch.

She was just so… _easy,_ and not in the sexual sense. Although, sleeping with her had been a great perk.

Katara was easy to be around, easy to be himself with. She made him laugh and kept him talking all night, asking far more and going far deeper than he expected. Zuko smiles in disbelief at himself. He really has been out of the dating pool awhile, if he's so quick to catch feelings.

It was just a hookup, he reminds himself. Just sex.

That doesn't keep Zuko from wanting more of it, more of her. Pulling his eyes from the ceiling, his gaze wanders over the dream fast asleep beside him. She's as naked as him still, and she didn't change positions from her side all night. The white sheets accentuate her dark skin; the hem settles neatly in the dip of her waist. Her spine is like tiny dots running down her back.

Zuko reaches out and follows the line. Then, he slips closer, slips his arm over her waist, and nuzzles her neck.

Katara startles at his touch, but calms quickly as he caresses her stomach, stretching as she stirs. Her body shapes to his, her back against his chest, ass pressing into his groin. Her blue eyes are hazy when she turns her head slightly to look at him.

"Morning, Charming," she whispers, groggy and cute.

He hides his smile behind her shoulder. "Kit Kat."

Her laugh is light and airy with sleep, but it doesn't keep her from directing a pout at him.

"If you ever call me that again…"

"No? You don't like being named after candy? When you're so sweet?"

"Is that how I taste? Like chocolate and cookie wafers?"

" _Mmm_ … just sweet, really." Zuko nips the shell of her ear, making Katara hiss.

He's quick to kiss away the offense, then his lips follow the line of her jaw, humming along with the vibrato of a moan in her throat. When he laps at her pulse, Katara's stomach tenses beneath his palm. Zuko digs his fingers into her taut flesh before dragging his hand up to her hip. There's bruising; he can't see it with the sheets covering her, but he feels the faint swelling beneath her skin, remembers the mirrored marks on his own hips.

His cock hardens against her ass.

"I could've spent hours with my head between your legs…." Zuko whispers. He draws a line down the outside of her thigh, making his way up along the inside. Her knees part for him; Katara's pliant when he hooks her top leg over his. "…savoring you, sampling me."

He stops his ascent right at the top of her thigh. Her skin is damp from last night; the dark curls, too. Zuko makes a meaningless pattern in the leftover dew, making her twitch, making her pant.

"You liked it, didn't you?" she gasps, eyes fluttering shut, fisting the sheets. "You liked tasting your cum in me."

Zuko chuckles, wearing half a smirk. "Too much."

His kisses her shoulder and moves his fingers just half an inch. The shapes he made on the inside of her leg are now light and feathery, torturous on her clit. Her hips hitch forward. His cock aches, insistent.

At the angle he's got— her hips lined up with his, her legs open for him, her sex still swollen and wet and throbbing for him— it'd be so easy to sink his cock in her, fill her, fuck her senseless. Zuko fights to control himself, to slow down. Her pleading breaths alone are worth taking his time.

Zuko uses his leg to spread hers wider, slips a single finger into her knuckle-deep, pumps in and out of her slowly. He half expected her to deter him, given how sensitive she has to be, but Katara quivers.

She grabs his wrist, ruts against his palm.

"More," she demands. "Please. More."

He adds a second finger, meets her thrusts and circles her clit with his thumb. He suckles the pulse below her jaw and dies over how tight she is. By now, she's grinding on him, soaking his hand— _god,_ how he wishes it was his cock. Her hushed moans turn to cries, sound a lot like his name. There's curses mixed in; she keeps pleading for more.

Zuko almost feels bad when he pulls away. Almost. But he's seconds away from blowing his load on the sheets; he just needs to breathe.

He leaves a wet trail from her sex to her breasts, circles her nipple until it pebbles up.

"I'd like to cum in you again," he says into the nape of her neck, "if you'll let me… maybe have _you_ for breakfast."

Katara shivers when he brushes her sternum, lets free a needy sigh when his fingers trace her lips. They part; he can feel her breath and his fingers slip through, met by her tongue.

"See how addictive you are?"

Her mouth closes and Katara sucks, sucks with a low moan in her chest, sucks until he's moaning, too.

Four times already . He wants to make it five. Needs to. He's so hard, practically in pain. Everything Katara does makes it worse, nipping his fingertips, humming around his knuckles.

She smiles back at him, purring. " _Mmm_ … you want me."

"God, yes. Yes."

Zuko pulls his fingers from her mouth and rolls her, props up on his knees behind her. Katara settles forward on her elbows, legs bent beneath her and spread, ass lifted up in the air. It's a thing of beauty, because he has the best view of her toned cheeks. There's a handprint from last night, the color of it the same roguish-pink as the glistening folds between her thighs.

He runs his hands up the backs of her legs, making her tilt her hips slightly. Her fists are balled up in the sheets and her body shakes, squirms for friction while he teases her with the head of his cock. He writes his name on her clit with the tip, barely pushes into her, offers the same fluttery, frustrating thrusts that she offered in his car.

Then, Zuko dips forward, bracing himself on an elbow and pinning her under him. His lips graze her shoulder blade, ghost up to her cheek until Katara turns her head.

She steals a kiss; he loves it—

This way he can taste the lust on her tongue. This way he can lap up every little moan. This way he can swallow the pained sound she makes when he lets his weight go and her body takes his cock.

Zuko holds his breath. Gasps. " _Shit_."

She's still so tight, so warm; she might even be warmer than last night, given how many times he's had her and how many different ways he's made her come. It takes all he's got not to chase his high, but he's careful, gentle. He pulls out of her slowly and sinks back in, listening to how wet she is.

It's some kind of special torture, letting Katara have him inch-by-agonizing-inch. It feels so good, but his cock hurts so much.

Zuko grits his teeth, buries his face in the dip of her shoulder, picks up the pace when Katara's quiet mewls turn to pleased sighs, then desperate whines. She grabs his ass with one hand, finds his hand with the other. Her hips lift off the mattress and she moans in time with the sound of skin slapping skin.

It doesn't take long after that. He was losing the battle before it even began. Katara's breathing stops for a second and her body tenses, then his name comes out in a broken chorus. Zuko's right behind her, his mouth open and a growl coming up from his chest.

"Fuck. _Fuck,_ Katara—" He cums in hot rush, his stomach tightening and thrusts devolving into an erratic pattern while he fights to draw it out.

Then, it's over. A blissful smile spreads across his face. Zuko slumps on top of Katara, half his body still on top of her, his cock still in her. She laughs shyly when his head hits the pillow in front of her.

"Tired?" she asks.

"A little," he says. "I'm always up at sunrise, but… maybe today will be an exception."

Katara blinks in agreement and presses closer, her forehead touching his. It's a sweet, soothing gesture, one that takes him by surprise considering they were strangers before last night. Still, he relaxes quickly, even lifts his hand and runs his fingers up and down her back. Her eyelids grow heavy, her smile, sleepy.

"You know," she murmurs, "if I was the type to like commitment, I think I'd really like you."

Zuko laughs quietly, his cheeks heating. It's… not quite a confession. It doesn't give away anything she's feeling, but it's enough to make him feel _something._ He smiles, and gives her a kiss just before falling back asleep.

"If I were the type _to_ commit, I think I'd like you, too."

* * *

Zuko wakes up a few hours later to loud rumble in his belly and the smell of breakfast. It's a few minutes before he can figure what's happening, and it's not until he sees the divot in the pillow next to him that he remembers.

 _Katara._ His heart beats a little too hard.

He puts a hand on his chest, willing it to slow, then stretches. He swings his legs off the bed, stands up, collects his pajama pants— _goddamn,_ his pulse is still thundering. Zuko glances in the mirror above his dresser and curses himself.

It was just a one-stand night. It was just sex. He was married to a witch for ten years; he should have a hundred nights like this to make up for it.

Funny though, reminding himself for the second time how brief this'll all be doesn't make his heart listen. Something Sokka said pops into his head, about how he met Suki in a dojo and it was all over for him after one date. He knew. That was it; he knew. They've been together ever since.

Could Katara be Zuko's dojo date?

No. _Absolutely not._ He can't feel anything for her. He can't be all dreamy and doe-eyed after one night. Sokka and Suki were different. They didn't have pounds of baggage hanging off them and ex-spouses sitting in the shadows. Even if Katara wanted him, everyone would just assume she's a rebound.

Is she a rebound? It that what last night was?

 _Fuck._ He's only known her for five minutes, but he's knows she deserves more than that.

Zuko rakes his fingers through his cropped hair and digs around the disheveled bed for his phone. Finding it, he shoots off a text to his uncle, saying he'll be by the Jasmine Dragon later. He needs advice— he catches a whiff of fresh waffles (is she really making fresh waffles?) and his stomach growls again— and breakfast.

Tossing his phone back on the bed, Zuko ventures to his kitchen. Music's playing softly. He thinks he recognizes Ariana Grande, which makes him blush because Side to Side was the first song he and Katara danced along to last night. She's moving to it now, slightly off beat and definitely off key, spinning around the island in one of his dress shirts with a bowl of batter in her arms.

Waffle mix slops into a sizzling iron. Katara closes the top and flips it over, finally noticing him.

"Hope you don't mind," she calls, "This kitchen looks like it belongs on HGTV and I had to… touch everything."

"Including my Spotify, I see." There's a smile in his voice.

"Oh, was that supposed to be off-limits? You might want to tell your Alexa not to take orders from strange women."

He laughs wholeheartedly, which he's learning isn't unusual with her. It's just new for him. He likes it, though, likes how simple things are and how Katara seems to get him. Laughing may not be his forte, but sarcasm certainly is.

Zuko pads further into the kitchen, brushes his hand down her back as he passes her by for the coffee. "I guess you're right. I can't really blame Alexa," he says, more to his mug than her. "It's not like strange women frequent the place."

"No?" Katara asks.

Zuko swallows a sip, decides he wants cream, and sets the coffee down on the counter before answering, "I get a lot of visits from my mom."

"That's really sweet."

Katara smiles; it looks genuine and real, but Zuko isn't entirely positive. He did just admit that his mother comes over regularly, which is probably the least attractive thing a fully grown man can say. That, or it's too serious and Katara said she doesn't want serious.

His lips purse together. _Slow down. Slow down._

Zuko opens the fridge, hiding his perturbed expression.

"Not that you sound like her," he tries joking. He scans the shelves for the Coffee-Mate and finds it, along with a carton of strawberries (this'll go better if he keeps his hands busy). Zuko sets the items on the island with the bottles of syrup and whipped cream. "I'm just saying, Alexa probably assumed you were one and the same, seeing as how I have zero game."

"You got me here, didn't you?"

"Sheer luck."

Katara shrugs. "Maybe."

The waffle iron beeps, stealing her blue eyes away from his for the moment. Katara flips the machine to stop the high-pitched shrieking, then grabs a fork as she opens the hot plates. She stabs the steaming waffle, tossing it onto a plate, and pours in the second.

Once it's counting down another four minutes, Katara tucks her hair behind her ears and gaze returns to him, curious.

"So… I'm the first woman you've had over since your divorce?"

The question takes him by surprise. It's deeply personal, but somehow… not. He feels comfortable with her. He doesn't suspect any ill-intent either, just interest.

He nods, albeit slowly. "Since my wife left, actually. It's been, _uh…_ " Zuko rubs his jaw, trying to remember the last time Mai had stepped foot in the downtown apartment. "About a year, I'd say. That's when shit really hit the fan and she moved out. I just… couldn't see anyone, not when I was technically married. It seemed unfair to everyone involved."

"That's wise. Any kids?"

He shakes his head. "I'd like to have one. Someday."

"Me too," Katara smiles at him. "Maybe a whole brood."

Zuko's lips curl, too. He holds her look for a while, lost somewhere in his thoughts. _If he'd met her sooner. If he'd never gotten married. If he'd chased happiness instead of what his father wanted._ He blushes when he realizes he's been staring. He was supposed to keep his hands busy. _Dammit._

He grabs a knife and cutting board, and flips the top off the strawberry carton. Hopefully he can keep the attention on her, now, and his mind away from stupid, silly things like real dates and committing. Zuko slices the tops from the strawberries, flicking the leafy portion towards the sink, then cuts the fruit into thin pieces.

"What's your story, then?" he asks.

Katara waves him off. "Oh, it's nothing exciting. Single. Thirty. Plastic surgeon."

"You're a surgeon? That's not exciting?"

"Oh no, It is! I'm really interested in trauma," Katara explains. "Right now I'm researching new ways to treat burns, particularly in war torn areas where equipment is in short supply. I love it; trying to make a difference, helping people."

Her eyes are bright, but Zuko senses a _but._ Her shoulders sag with a sigh. There it is. He frowns as he listens.

"But, sometimes it's stressful. The hours are hard on relationships; I was in a pretty serious one, too. He was a younger guy, I met him my senior year of college. Really sweet, until he wasn't."

The waffle iron sounds again, cutting her off. Katara retrieves her fork and works on extracting it while she talks. "He gave me loads of grief, from med school all the way to the end of my residency. When I got a fellowship here in Seattle, he wasn't even happy for me."

Zuko's brows shoot up. "Not at all?"

"His only concern was how how far away I'd be, how long it would take me…" Katara trails off, shaking her head with an irritated huff.

She gets Zuko's waffle on a plate, smears hers with butter, and slides the dinnerware across the island towards the stools. He finishes with the strawberries and grabs them each a fork, plus his coffee. Balancing it all in hand, Zuko slips onto the barstool beside her.

"I broke up with him a year ago," she says, helping him set everything down without spilling, "and I wasn't too upset. It was mostly mutual, anyway. It's not easy dating a doctor. Unless the other person's a doctor, they just don't get it. So, for now, I'm single and uncommitted."

She flashes a grin, and reaches past him for the syrup. "I guess that's what brought us here. We both hit the reset button."

"Yeah. Kind of at the same time." Zuko smiles, glad to see the return of her happy, hopeful demeanor, then his attention drifts down to her plate.

Katara already has her waffle drowning in syrup. He almost laughs because she didn't seem like the type to have such a taste for sugar.

"Do you always eat such a well-rounded breakfast?"

"You're the one who thinks pussy is a meal," she retorts.

"Is it not?" A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face.

Katara scowls, but only for a moment. As if to make up for her choices, Katara snags a few strawberry slices from him, sprinkling them around her plate. She winks, like the meal is magically healthy, and Zuko wonders if this some type of food foreplay, until she sticks out her hand.

"Will you pass the whipped cream, Charming?"

 _"Oh my god."_

The Ready Whip slides across the counter to her. Katara dispenses a dollop on top of her waffle, then goes so far as squirt some in her mouth. She wiggles in her seat, cleans her lip off with her fingers, and moans. It's only when Zuko's cheeks flush pink that Katara relents.

"You're so easy to rile up," she teases, "and you started it!"

"Me!?" He splutters. "You were the one— Are you ser—" Zuko points a bite of waffle at her. "You know exactly what you're doing and you better stop unless you want to go without breakfast."

"Is that a threat? Or an invitation…"

Zuko thinks for a second, squinting. "Both."

"Too bad. I'm declining. Resisting. Whatever you'd like call it." Katara shovels a pile of waffle and strawberry into her mouth and swallows hungrily. "I'm famished, and unlike you and your pussy diet, I cannot survive on dick alone."

He chuckles around a mouthful, but leaves her alone.

Ariana Grande has long since faded out, leaving them to eat in the quiet setting of his kitchen. The occasional siren drifts up from the city, the scattered bird song filters in from the feeder on his balcony; besides that, the apartment is silent.

But, for once in his life, the silence isn't deafening. Zuko's content: eating, drinking coffee, stealing shy glances to his left. He ponders asking her out to dinner. Not for that night and not anywhere serious, he'd just like to know if she's interested in seeing him.

 _Casual dating,_ that's how he could pose it, at least until they can make a decision about commitment.

Zuko almost has the courage he needs. If Katara's wanting a man who will work around her schedule, he has a chance, doesn't he? He's busy, too. Constantly. Some nights have him sleeping in the office. He understands canceled plans, weeks of take-out on end, minimal sex… if that's what Katara needs…

"One new message from Uncle," the monotone Alexa interrupts their meal, stealing Zuko's moment. "The message says: I have errands this afternoon. Meet me in an hour?"

He drops his fork with a groan, remembering his worries when he first rolled out of bed. Is he fucking serious? The newly divorced man trying to date his first one-night stand? She's going to think he's crazy. Zuko gets up abruptly and clears his plate, taking it to the sink. The glass clatters in the basin loudly.

"Text back: Be there around 11," he instructs, turning on the water to wash away the syrup.

"You have to go?" Katara asks, almost startling him.

Zuko flips the faucet off and turns around, "Yeah, sorry. I forgot I texted him. He… might need my help today."

"No, it's no problem, you just looked upset. I— I can leave now," she offers, "if I'm in your hair or bugging you."

His scowl gives way to an apology immediately. "No… no, no, no. It's not you. I promise it's not you. I'm just— I was lost in thought and that stupid speaker always interrupts." Zuko gestures flippantly, then bites his lip. It's not her fault he's an idiot. He reigns in his mood, smiling.

"I'm going to shower, if you want to join me. I mean," he looks around, trying to make the offer appealing, "if you think the kitchen's nice, you should see the faucet settings."

Katara laughs, "Are you one of those men who has to have his water set to exactly 100.2 degrees?"

"Honestly, it's all a little too fancy for me. My ex picked the place out, I got it in the divorce."

"Well, Charming," Katara puts on a flirtatious look, slinking around the island towards him. "If you don't mind just turning the water on and testing it with your foot like a commoner, I'd love to join you."

Her hands are warm and soft when they settle on his hips. Her fingertips tap his skin, then hook in the top of his pajama pants and push them down his thighs. She smirks, cups his balls briefly, finally wraps her hand around his rapidly swelling cock.

Zuko exhales loudly. Katara captures it with a kiss.

"And…" she murmurs, settling back on her heels, her mouth an inch from his while she strokes him. "Maybe someday, maybe soon… I can return the favor by inviting you into my minimalist shower."

"I prefer soon."

He can feel Katara smile against his lips.

"Give me your number before I go."

* * *

Zuko helps Katara into a cab a half hour later than planned, but as she pulls away, he's never felt more elated.


	3. Chapter 3

**_you'll be the death of me._**

 _zuko is clueless-and shy-when it comes to dating. uncle and azula try to help. and, in other, unrelated news, zuko learns there are some real benefits to facetiming his hook-up._

 _aka: why can't i just write porn without plot (it'd be so much easier)_

* * *

The bell above the door chimes as Zuko steps into the Jasmine Dragon around 11:45 in the morning. It's a quaint little shop, set on the corner of a busy intersection in downtown Seattle. Uncle never would've been able to afford the rent, but Zuko took it upon himself to buy the place. It was his way of repaying the man for everything he'd done. Grand gestures always make his feelings clear, especially when Zuko can't vocalize them.

And telling Uncle how grateful he is… it's impossible.

He smiles fondly around the space. The windows offer a view of the bustling, rain-slick street, providing readers with plenty of natural light. Towards the back, soft lamps and couches give a space for customers to lounge and talk. There was always Zuko's favorite place, particularly the ugly, orange chair where he'd challenge Uncle to chess on slow, Saturday mornings.

Glancing somewhat longingly at the spot, Zuko wonders if Katara would like it as much as him, then ventures past the counter. The grad student at the register, Jin, beams at him.

"Morning, Zuko. How are you today?"

"Good. Thanks."

He blushes brightly, in spite of himself—Azula told him a month ago that Jin's interested and he can't forget it—before gliding past her into the kitchen.

"Uncle?" Zuko calls, rubbing away the pink tint on his neck. The swinging door squeaks shut behind him, signaling his arrival. "Uncle? Are you back here?"

"Well, there he is, late as usual." Azula breezes out of the pantry, carrying absolutely nothing but an air of self-importance. "Nice of you to join us, Zuzu."

"Hey, you're late just as often as me."

Uncle appears behind her, juggling jars of tea leaves and wearing a smile, "Oh, leave him be, Azula. He worked the register yesterday. Your brother's exhausted."

"Really?" Azula props a hip against the counter and crosses her arms, eyeing Zuko skeptically. "Is that why you look like you didn't sleep last night? So stressed from giving customers change?"

He scoffs at her. "Believe it or not, I was busy last night," Zuko says, helping his uncle with some of the jars. He deposits them on the steel countertop. "I might not have a bustling social life like you, but I still have things to do."

"Pay-per-view?"

"I don't pay for porn," Zuko snaps. "And, she was rea—"

"That's enough," Uncle cuts in, mock disappointment on his brow. "My word, if you two insist on behaving like children, you will be treated like children! Go find the jasmine blend, Azula. Zuko," Uncle scoops up three jars, leaving the same amount for Zuko, and bobs his head, "come with me. I'm sure customers are waiting and it seems I have to keep you under my thumb."

Zuko does as he's told, following his uncle back to the front, though he senses a smile in the old man's tone.

It took years, a third of Iroh's life, for his family to pull together like this. When Zuko's cousin died at eighteen, his world fell apart. Then, Zuko's father went to prison, leaving two angry teenagers with a bloody empire and no parents, and Uncle took them in. He began rebuilding, stone by stone: their home, their happiness, their souls.

Half a decade later, when Zuko was twenty-four and Azula was graduating from Harvard _(nothing but the best for her)_ , their mother turned up. All over again, the careful existence of their found family began crumbling. But, Uncle held them together. He held them all— Zuko, Azula, Ursa. Uncle stitched up the wounds left behind by Ozai, mended their hearts as best he could.

Whenever he gets choked up about it, Zuko makes a joke about tea: "You go to a lot of effort for some hot leaf juice, Uncle."

Zuko swears Uncle grumbles something about betrayal as he puts away the jars of tea leaves. He's wearing a frown when he pulls his head from the cabinet and closes the door.

"Do not think you can distract me with the fundamentals of tea brewing, nephew. You've known them since you were nineteen." His finger wags sternly, then his eyes twinkle with mischief. "What was that I heard about a _she?"_

 _"She._ Right."

He looks away shyly; his hands itch to be busy. Snagging a wadded dish towel, Zuko begins wiping down the countertops, then moves on to the espresso machine. It doesn't matter that Jin already cleaned it to a shine.

"I- I made a friend," Zuko says. "I think."

"Last night?"

"Yeah. She, uh…" His thoughts drift ever so briefly to Katara's mouth around his dick in the shower. Zuko bites down on his lip. Hard. "She made me late."

 _"Ohohoo!_ A sleepover." Uncle jabs him in the ribs, whispering conspiratorially. "An _adult_ sleepover."

Air hisses through Zuko's teeth. He twists the towel in his hands before dropping it next to the espresso machine, unable to help how his face heats. "I _am_ an adult. A fully-grown, single man, in fact. I'm allowed to have women over for the night."

"Women? Plural? My goodness, Zuko, pace yourself."

His uncle laughs. Jin snickers, too, having overheard the comment; the shop is small and quiet, after all. Customers' headphones are the only reason Zuko's spared the embarrassment of everyone eavesdropping. He leans back against the counter and folds his arms, eyes focused resolutely on his feet.

"It was just one woman, Uncle. One very pretty, very far out of my league woman. She took me completely by surprise, and I think… well, I think I might see her, again."

"You might?" Azula's pointy, red flats tap into his line of sight. "Did you make plans with her?"

No pretense. Just straight to the point. How very Azula.

Zuko shrugs. "Sort of…?"

"That's a no," Azula snorts.

"It's not a no! It's a— _Ugh."_ He grumbles under his breath, rubbing his eyes before glaring pointedly at his sister. "We left things open, implied a future date. She's a surgeon, so she's constantly busy, and I didn't want to put any pressure on her. But, she took my phone number before she left."

Uncle makes a small, excited sound. "Has she texted you yet?"

 _"Um."_ Zuko frowns, shifting off the counter and fishing in his back pocket. He's almost too nervous to check, but it's the kind of nervous that lends more towards excitement than dread. Zuko taps his phone, scrolls down the list of notifications from ESPN and NBC on the lock screen, and tries to control the way his thumb trembles.

 **Messages:**  
 **3 New Notifications.**

Butterflies flutter around in his stomach. It's a number he doesn't recognize and that makes his breath catch more than he'll ever admit. He hits the notification and punches in his password when he's prompted. The phone's quick, but it still feels like forever before his messages open.

 _I want another waffle._

Zuko smiles, an unabashed, genuine, smile—

 _This is Katara, by the way. Probably should've led with that._ _  
_ _Wouldn't want to end up as Waffle Woman in your contacts._

—then he laughs. "Yeah, she has."

His attention drifts to the timestamp on her first message. 11:23. Not even fifteen minutes after he waved goodbye to her. Something about that makes Zuko's heart warm, makes him feel like she's just as excited to explore things, and maybe not just sex things. He bites his lip to prevent his smile from turning to a full-on grin, but one leg bounces up and down, his heel tapping the concrete floor.

What should he say? Does he ask her on a date? Zuko looks up to ask for help, but his uncle and sister are gawking at him. His cheeks burn until they're bright pink.

"What?"

Azula raises a single brow, "You really like her."

"Katara… and, yeah," he chuckles under his breath, slowly lowering his phone. He slips it back into his pocket. Texting her will go better for him when he's not shaking. "I do. She's amazing; super smart, funny and dorky… outrageously beautiful. I—"

"—you're smitten," Uncle finishes. He's giddy and disbelieving.

"I am?"

"I don't think you smiled this much on your wedding day." Azula quirks a brow. "Then again, Mai is a sour bitch."

"Is that crazy?"

"What? That you married Mai? Yes."

Zuko grimaces at her, "No, asshole. Being this excited about her, about someone new. Already." he emphasizes. "I finalized a divorce last week. I should be upset. I can't… I can't be falling for someone else."

"Who says?"

"What?"

"Who says you can't be falling? Is there some kind of divorce rulebook?" Azula pushes.

"I just… I don't know," he shrugs. "I woke up this morning with her right next to me and I… I felt something. I felt _happy_. Naturally, it took me about three seconds to panic. So, I texted Uncle." An embarrassed smile tugs at the corners of Zuko's mouth. He blushes again, and drops his eyes to his black Nikes.

"Turns out that was dumb. We had breakfast together and talked all morning even though we were up all night and…" His hand subconsciously settles over the back of his jeans, where he feels around for the familiar shape of his iPhone. "She texted me."

Uncle laughs, "We have a smitten kitten on our hands, don't we, Azula?"

"A lot of good that does when he's hiding out here instead of texting her back." His sister's stare is sharp and knowing.

"I'm not hiding," Zuko protests quickly. "I needed some confirmation that I'm not insane."

"Well, I can't offer you that."

"You're really not helping, Azula."

She hums, pretending to inspect her fingernails. "I'm not trying to. You always do this. You go to people for their opinion and then you do what you think they want. That's how you ended up with Mai, isn't it? Trying to get Daddy's approval, even from prison."

"Azula!" Uncle scolds.

"What? I'm right," she insists. "He fucked me up, too. I'm allowed to say what I want about it." Her gaze flicks back to Zuko. "You have to figure out what you want all by yourself. You can't let us or Dad or anyone else make up your mind for you. This woman, Katara?"

He nods, and Azula goes on.

"The date of your divorce doesn't matter to Katara as much as you think it does. She's obviously determined that you're not using her for sex or some poorly hatched plan to make your ex-wife jealous. That's why she stayed all the way through breakfast and took your number. That's why she texted you."

Zuko squints slyly. "What if she's using _me_ for sex?"

"Oh, god. Gross," Azula waves her hands in disgust. "Don't flatter yourself."

"What? I could be using her, but not the other way around?"

He laughs smugly as she scrunches up her face and disappears into the kitchen. In her absence, Zuko throws a smirk at his uncle, who's shaking his head with quiet mirth.

"And here I thought I'd have to drive you up a wall with riddles to make you text Miss Katara back."

"So, you're in agreement, then? I should go for this?"

"Oh nephew," The old man chuckles, his hands on his belly. "Life happens wherever you are, whether you make it or not."

* * *

Zuko keeps his phone carefully tucked away for most of the day. It feels like a rock in his pocket, constantly thumping against his backside with a beat that says _'text. her. back.'_ But, his stomach is a mess of knots. His legs shake when he walks. His heart stutters every time he reaches into his pocket, and at the least second, he chickens out.

What if he says something wrong? What if he messes it up?

He helps his uncle count inventory and restock the shelves. He buses tables with Jin, takes over the register, and sweeps the entire shop three times. In the background, his thoughts are running a mile a minute, coming up with different versions of the same basic text to send her, fumbling over the best possible option.

Whenever Azula or Uncle pester him about what he's doing, Zuko fires back about his greatest ideas coming when his hands are busy.

Around six, when the shop has slowed from the afternoon rush and only a family of four sits in the window, Azula grabs Zuko by the wrist. With force surprising for her size, she drags him out into the street.

"What are y—"

"You're going home," Azula says, demanding and domineering. Her hands curl into fists and she sets them on her hips like it'll add girth to her tiny frame. "You're not allowed inside the tea shop until you text Katara back and get a date."

"Since when?"

"Since right now. Uncle's orders."

Zuko looks past her. His uncle's hovering in the front window. As soon as he catches Zuko's eyes, he startles, quickly turning away and pretending to busy himself by wiping down a nearby table. It doesn't keep him occupied long; Zuko already cleaned it twice.

He growls under his breath and glowers at his sister. "Why didn't he make me leave?"

"Because you've always been a little frightened of me."

"Have not."

"Are you going to fight me on this?" Azula stares him down.

Zuko releases the set of his jaw with a groan, his head lolling back. " _Goddammit._ I'll go. I'll text her."

"See?" Her piercing laugh joins the sound of passing traffic, making Zuko's scowl deepen. Azula reaches for him, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing gently to show she's teasing. Her smile softens.

"Don't overthink it, okay? Send something playful, but sweet," she says. "Call Ty Lee if you're that nervous. Run a few lines by her. She's… something of an expert when it comes to flirtatious texting. How do you think she got me?"

"How you've managed to keep her around is more of the mystery to me."

"I can't even begin to fathom what you mean."

Azula winks. Then, with a short wave, she flags down a cab for him and sends him on his way.

* * *

He phones Ty Lee in the cab, but she offers the same advice as his sister.

Be sweet. Try a little flirting. Don't be suggestive unless she is first. Make sure to set a date and a time to see her again. Don't be surprised if she says she's busy on your first try; some women play hard to get. Zuko rattles off a few lines he's thought of, all of which make Ty squeal with delight.

When he hangs up, Zuko opens the messages from Katara and types out the line that made Ty Lee squeal the loudest: _Waffle Woman could work… but I'm saving you as Kit Kat and there's nothing you can do about it._

Her response is almost immediate: _I'm not afraid to block you._

Zuko grins like a love-struck teen. Was she waiting to hear from him?

 _You'll miss me,_ he replies.

 _And your dick._

He buries his mouth behind his hand, stuck somewhere between laughter and a scoff of disbelief. The cab driver looks at him oddly; their eyes meet in the rearview mirror before Zuko can glance away. He feels the heat creeping up his neck and drags his fingers down it, tugging on his collar before texting back.

 _Fine. A chocolate bar by your name?_ He fights to keep his composure.

His phone vibrates before he can lock the screen. _If you don't mind me putting a strawberry by yours…_

That makes his breath catch with another quiet curse. The driver has to think he's having some kind of seizure by now, but _god._ Those strawberries. Another reason he was late to the Jasmine Dragon. Another contribution to their desperate need for a shower.

He chews his lip and stares at his phone, struggling to forget her tongue lapping sweet trails of juice off his skin, searching for the right response. His cock twitches, hardening enough that the shape's visible through his pants. Zuko lifts his hips from the car seat and tugs on the front of his jeans in a bid for some relief. He has to change the subject before he starts sweating in the back of a cab, but to what? His thumbs circle above the keyboard aimlessly.

Maybe it's just the texting. Maybe that makes her bold. He tries a new tactic.

 _I'm almost home. Can I call you?_

There's a delay. A long one, long enough for Zuko to tip the cab driver and wave hello to the doorman outside his building. He steps into the elevator a minute later, worrying while simultaneously telling himself to knock it off. She'll text him back… unless he's scared her off.

He resolutely keeps his phone in his back pocket, all the while chanting to it under his breath. _Just ding. Just fucking ding._ It does, at the same time the elevator stops on his floor. Zuko practically skips out, and he's wearing a stupid, _stupid_ grin all the way to his apartment. He unlocks his phone as soon as he's unlocked his door.

 _Facetime?_ her text reads.

That catches him by surprise. The good kind of surprise. He gets to see her face, again.

Quickly, Zuko closes his front door and rushes to his bedroom. It's still in disarray from their marathon of sex. Pillows are strewn across the floor and the sheets hang halfway off the bed. He manages to find a white t-shirt and sweatpants among the mess, which he tugs on after kicking off his jeans and shoes.

Dressed more comfortably, Zuko flops on his stomach in the middle of his bed and taps the video icon next to Katara's contact. It connects after one ring and she appears, smiling at him over a bubble bath.

"Charming. Nice to see you."

"Kit Kat…" He ignores her disgruntled snort, grinning back.

The bathroom's dim, candlelit. He spots grey towels in the background and an array of hair products and face things in a shower basket hanging above her head, She has a wine glass and candles on the ledge next to her. Little flames reflect off the water and the humid tiles. The swell of her breasts glisten whenever she takes a breath and when she leans forward to collect her drink, the bubbles barely hide her nipples.

Zuko catches himself ogling. His mouth snaps shut immediately, and he pointedly searches for a PG topic, one that doesn't involve her boobs or her bathtub or how he'd very much like to submerge himself in both. "Do you have your phone in the soap dish?"

 _Smooth._ At least, it's a safe question. He thinks. He should know better, given how she's smirking.

"It's the perfect vantage point, isn't it?"

 _Vantage point for wh—?_ Zuko shakes the thread of hope from his head. "It's very nice…? But, you could've just called me."

"And miss out on those pretty eyes? I'd rather risk the nip slip."

"Right. Because I haven't seen them."

"Yeah, you've never sucked on them, either." Nonchalantly, Katara tucks a curl back into the bun on top of her head. "Not that I'm complaining. It's a rare occurrence to find a man who's so attentive to his one-night-stand."

He laughs shyly, glancing away. "Doesn't a one-night-stand imply never speaking to you again?"

"Oh. You're right. I'll hang up, then."

"No!"

He says it too urgently, and as soon as he realizes her teasing, Zuko tries to cover his outburst with a cool smile. He's sure he looks silly, but Katara does, too. Maybe she's nervous… like him. Of course, they could be jittery for entirely different reasons. In his case, he's scared as all hell to ask for a date, to question if there's something more than sex between them. They talked a lot, too; they had fun, in Zuko's opinion, even _out_ of bed.

But, maybe Katara's nervous because she actually does want a one-night stand.

"I—" His brows knit together. If that's the case, where does he start? Ty Lee's advice rings in his ears, however, saving him from just hanging up. "Did you have a good day?"

"I did," she says. "I went to the hospital for a while, did a little research. The interns were, per usual, out of hand, but I didn't mind so much today. Something had to keep me busy while I waited for a text back." Katara purses her lips over her wine glass, making Zuko fidget.

"Sorry about that… I honestly couldn't figure out what to say! I spent the entire day busing tables for my uncle while trying to come up with the perfect line."

A bright smile overtakes her face. "Zuko, that is precious."

"Yeah, if precious means lame. You've ruined all my game."

"I don't think I'm responsible for that…"

Feigning hurt, Zuko does his damnedest to keep his brow furrowed and lips pressed together, but his mirth is obvious. A laugh bursts through his nose, proving Katara right, and she cracks completely.

Her shoulders shake with subdued laughter and she draws her knees up, balancing her wine glass among the bubbles on them. Her head settles against the tiles as she wipes a tear from her lashes, then rests her hand on her chest.

"That reply took you all day? Am I that intimidating?"

"Do you think you're not? You're…" Zuko half shrugs, looking for the right word to describe her.

"A vixen?" Katara offers.

There's a blush on her cheeks, but her eyes are mischievous, secretive, like she's remembering something special, something for just the two of them. Zuko's thoughts immediately jump to the backseat of his car, to the smell of sex and handprints on foggy windows, and lust drops like a hot coal in his stomach. He'll never be able to glance over his shoulder without heat unfurling in his stomach, never be able to think about it, even.

"Yeah…" His voice is husky. "A vixen, a sex kitten…"

"I like that last one," Katara says. She downs the rest of her wine with a coy smile, then sets the empty glass on the tub's ledge. "Sex kitten."

"You do? Like, specifically, or just—?"

Zuko cuts off with an inaudible gasp, mouth hanging halfway open. Katara's no longer hiding beneath the bubbles. She's sat up, brought her arms above her head like she means to fix her hair; except, she's not. She's toying with a few loose strands that've fallen from her bun… and playing completely innocent.

"Specifically."

"Oh." He should look away. This is some private moment, something not meant for him to see—maybe she doesn't know she's above the water line—but he can't tear his gaze from her. He follows her hands, and her hands wander.

Forgetting the humid curls on her neck, her fingertips trail the length of her shoulders and swoop across her collarbones. She tickles down her sternum, leaving a path of sudsy water that glistens in the candlelight, and traces the curves of her ribcage back up to her breasts. Her nipples pebble up at the barest brush of her thumbs, then Katara cups herself roughly.

"Calling me anything else means I'd have to tone myself down," she says, eyes beckoning him. A smirk tugs at her lips. "And, I'd rather not."

 _"My god."_

When her left hand dips below the water's surface, he bites down on his tongue to hide a groan. A tiny shiver runs through her limbs, a silent gasp quivering on her lips, and Zuko can't help himself. The sound escapes his throat, coming out like a suppressed whine, and his cock twitches between his hips and the mattress.

A less-than-innocent smile slides into place. "So responsive… Are you already hard?"

"I'm—" Zuko rolls onto his side, adjusting himself in search of some relief, but it doesn't help.

Nothing does: not his uncle's fat belly or Azula's snide remarks, not the tea shop or mopping floors or the taxes he needs to file, because all it takes is another glance at her and he's in pain.

Katara's touching herself, and she wants him to know it. Her eyes are slits of blue staring him down. Her lips are pursed, with a diamond of black parting them. Little whispers of bliss echo off the bathroom tiles. Ripples disturb the water, dissolving the bubbles around her. Zuko imagines her hips hitching upward, pictures her desperate attempts for more depth, more friction. It's how she fucked him all night, like he couldn't be rough enough or go deep enough and she could never get enough, but… everything about _him_ was enough.

He can't take the strain anymore, no matter how he tries. She's a sight to behold, wrapped up in golden candlelight.

As smoothly as he can—he's scared she'll catch him; he's scared she'll stop—Zuko shifts onto his back. With pillows shoved under his head and his phone held up on his chest, he slips his hand below the waistband of his pants and grips his cock. He's so tortuously turned on, it _almost_ feels good.

And, he's struck by the travesty it is that he's not in the bath, too. She'd be in his lap. He'd be chasing shadows from her neck to her breasts, lapping at the droplets of water speckled around her nipples. He'd trace the curve of her ribcage with his fingertips, leave a trail of goosebumps down her stomach. He'd be the reason she whimpers, the reason she begs.

There's no more denying it, no trying to hide it. Zuko pumps his cock once and his whole body quivers, making his voice crack around _"—Yeah…_ I am."

"Good," she moans, almost silent. And, that's it.

With her pupils diluting nearly all the blue, her eyes stay on him. Her mouth is open, but she's quiet, secretive. Zuko doesn't dare do more than slow, shallow strokes, but even that's quickly becoming too much. A visible flush stains her cheeks. Sweat prickles his skin. Every time her lashes flutter or her lips twitch around a pleased sound, it makes his balls ache. From wherever she is, she could still make him come in minutes.

"Let me see," she says. "Show me how you please yourself."

Surprise flickers across his face, until Katara gives him a daring smile and Zuko has to admit, he wants this, too.

Using some of the pillows behind him, he finds the angle that allows Katara a full view of him, then props his phone up and reaches towards his nightstand. He finds an old bottle of lube in the top drawer, and with a glob deposited in his palm, Zuko stretches out and starts stroking himself again. Now, the sound of his hand, slippery and wet, gliding up and down his cock joins his occasional groan. He closes his eyes, and pretends it's the sound of himself sinking into her cunt.

She's so hot. She's so tight. Inhibitions lowered, he hisses, "I want to fuck you. _God_ , I want to fuck you, again."

"Is that all?" Katara asks. "Do you want anything else?"

"I want you on top of me."

 _"Mmm…_ you like how my tits bounce."

"And, how you bite my neck." He peeks at her. Katara's sunk lower in the water, with her knees spread wider, pressed up against the tub's sides.

She cups her breasts with one hand, torturing each nipple to a hard peak. "Tell me what else you want, Zuko."

 _"Yes."_ Hearing his name sends him to an entirely new plane. He still watches her, but his mind drifts away, flicking through the fantasies he's always played close to his chest.

"The balcony," Zuko says. "I want to fuck you out there, above the city." He closes his eyes again, picturing it. "If anyone were to look up, they'd see us. They'd see how much you like my cock."

"You have such a good cock."

He whines and grips himself tighter.

"We can see how you like it in my office. I'll bend you over my desk and push your skirt up around your hips." He almost comes at the thought. _Not yet_. Zuko groans, staves it off. "You can drop by every day, and I'll spend my lunch hour with my head between your legs. You'll be begging me to stop; your clit will be swollen and throbbing… so, I'll leave your cunt alone, and I'll fuck your ass."

"Yes. Please." Katara's breathy moan sends a sharp jolt straight through him.

He wants to come. He wants to show her what she does to him, how hot she makes him. Zuko speeds up, grunting, rutting off the bed and into his hands.

But, she warns him off. "Slow… Slowly. Imagine it's me."

 _"Kat."_

"I know… I know, handsome. You're so close, but you'll have to wait," she teases, "because I'd take my time with you. This is the best part, the part where you can hardly think. Your fingers leave bruises on me. You try to force me down, make me take every inch of your cock, or you thrust up, desperate to pump me full of cum."

His face contorts with pain. "Fuck, I need you."

"What would you do?"

"Flip you over. Pin your hands above your head. Put your legs on my shoulders." If he's not allowed to work his cock how he wants, he'll mimic her shallow strokes from last night, the movements that made him fall apart too quickly.

Katara makes a sound of approval. "Yes. Just like that. Just the head. Mmm—" she moans, playing with a nipple, pulling and twisting and mimicking the little pinches he made with his teeth last night. When it's pink and pert from the attention, her hand dips below the water to join her other, drawing more pleased noises from her throat. "Good. Good boy."

"You'd beg me every time I sink into you. Go deeper. Move faster. I wouldn't listen. I'd pay you back for this."

"Oh my god, Zuko…" Her words tremble; she bites her bottom lip.

Not for the last time, he wishes he were there, wishes he could see the tremor in her thighs as she circles her wet, swollen clit. And her lips, too— he pictures her parting them, showing off the sensitive, slick flesh, slipping two fingers through them and gasping as she fills herself.

Her breath falters, and Katara stiffens, humming through what has to be the cusp of her release.

Zuko prays she'll fall; then, he can, too. He wants to, so badly. He's on the verge of coming, only holding back because she's required it. The movements he's making pick up just a bit, still around the tip of his cock, but he can feel the unrelenting heat in his stomach, the tautness in his balls.

"Don't stop," he urges her, sounding desperate himself. "Don't… don't stop."

"Are you going to come?"

"Yes. Yes. Katara, please. _Let me."_

It's as if his plea is all she needs. Her pupils dilate and her eyes close halfway. Color rushes across her skin and her back curves as a moan reverberates from her lips— it sounds very much like his name, but Zuko's too caught up in how she looks, how she shivers and shakes, how fucking good it feels to make those quick, hard strokes up and down his cock to really decipher it.

A second later, hot cum spurts onto his stomach, and it's her name that fills his ears.

As does his heartbeat. And the rush in his blood. Zuko shuts his eyes, splaying his arms across the width of his mattress, and rests in that perfect state of bliss for a moment. Katara was wrong before; _this_ is the best part. He's finally let go, he's finally found some relief… and he feels _good_.

Excited, not anxious. Vulnerable, not overexposed.

 _That's new,_ he thinks, darkly.

Anytime he had sex with Mai, he'd immediately tense, throw walls up, and hide away. Laying here now, Zuko doesn't feel the need to move. Which, truthfully, is exactly why he should. If Azula finds out he just laid here 'til his dick went soft…

Gathering his last bits of strength, Zuko wipes his stomach with his sheets (he needs to wash them anyway, after their night together) and tucks himself back inside his sweats. The sound of splashing pulls his attention to his phone, which Zuko grabs as he rolls up on an elbow.

Nevermind.

He's wrong, too.

The best part is this; it's her smile and the way she's gazing at him with hazy, midnight blue. He likes that there's no urgency in her eyes, no awkward glances aside or underlying tension to say goodbye. Katara looks as content as him, slumped against the tub and the tile, playing with the remnants of bubbles. His own smile appears, lazy and tired.

"You'll be the death of me."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Maybe not," he comments. "Unless…" And his heart jumps into his throat, thundering harder than it was earlier. As great as it was, he didn't call her to get off. He called her to— _shit,_ his mouth is so dry. Zuko licks his lips, to no avail, but, at least he finds his voice. "Unless you want to do this again… then, it might be."

"This?" One of her brows forms a perfect arc. "Are you asking for more phone sex?"

He panics. "No. No! I- I want to—"

A laugh echoes in her bathroom. She's playing with him. Again.

 _Damn,_ he has to get used to that. He has to adjust to how forward she is, too, because he's stunned silent when Katara asks, "How does Wednesday night sound? Around eight? There's a hole-in-the-wall place by the hospital that has the best Chicken Parm."

"Okay…" He can't believe it. Did he land a date? That easily? His brain stutters back to life. "That sounds great. Where should I pick you up?"

"Well, assuming I get off on time, Harborview Medical Center."

"Oh, no way."

"What?" Katara asks.

"I have a view of that area from my office," he says, catching the follow-up question in her gaze. "I work in the Columbia building, off Cherry Street."

Immediately, her curious expression turns crafty. "That's close… maybe I _will_ take you up on this offer to get fucked in your office over lunch."

"I'll tell security to put you on the short-list."

 _"Ooo,_ so sexy, so powerful. You've got me hooked, Charming." Katara smirks, then her usual smile returns. Sitting up, she collects her phone, ready to sign off. "But, for now, I should go. This water _is_ getting cold… I'll see you."

He nods. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Goodbye, Zuko."

"Bye… Katara."

Zuko waits until she disconnects, then stares at the very short list of FaceTime calls. Katara. Uncle. Ty Lee. There's a missed notification from a year ago: Mai. Just seeing her number churns his stomach. _I'm bored,_ her flat voice whispers. At some point, her complaint changed to _You're boring. You're dumb. You're nothing._ He swipes his thumb across the screen to erase her name.

She doesn't get to fill his head with doubts.

He's too happy to let her ruin this.


End file.
